Thankful For Family
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Shiore-Hikaru suggested I write a Thanksgiving story where Harley Quinn's parents come to visit her at Arkham and meet the Joker, so I did. After all, if family doesn't save us from the madhouse, it drives us to it! ;-) Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! :-)
1. Chapter 1

**Thankful for Family**

"Why pizza?" asked the trainee doctor as he accompanied Dr. Leland down the hall of Arkham Asylum to the cafeteria. "Why not the traditional Thanksgiving meal? Y'know, turkey and stuffing…"

"You should see what kind of damage the Joker can do with a turkey bone," interrupted Dr. Leland. "And you would have, had you been here in '06. Since then, we haven't served turkey. There are too many painful associations. Plus it's best not to serve them anything they can use as a weapon. But then with the Joker, anything can be used as a weapon. He strangled someone with a napkin once, but we really can't justify getting rid of those. But this is why we have to monitor them during the meal, so incidents like that don't happen again."

"Oh…right," stammered the trainee doctor, instantly regretting his decision to train here.

Dr. Leland clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine," she said, with more confidence than she felt. Arkham went through doctors like Batman went through henchmen. She hoped this one at least would survive the holiday.

She opened the door to the cafeteria, where as usual in Arkham, chaos reigned. Poison Ivy was screaming at the top of her lungs, gazing at the pizza in horror, and suddenly knocked past Dr. Leland and raced from the room, hands clapped over her mouth. "Pamela has a sensitivity towards plants," explained Dr. Leland, calmly. "I imagine the tomato sauce is like blood to her."

"Can we all just form an orderly line?" called Jonathan Crane, as he waited patiently for a slice of pizza, holding a plate in his hand. "We're not children. Or European. No offense, Jervis."

"I'm English, that's hardly the same thing," retorted Jervis Tetch. "If there's one thing we know how to do, it's queue…"

"Outta my way, nerds!" shouted the Joker, shoving them aside to reach the pizza table first. "Nice guys lose out on pizza! Now where's the turkey one? Can't have Thanksgiving without turkey!"

"I don't think they make turkey pizza, Mr. J," said Harley Quinn, lifting the lids on the boxes to examine them. "But here's pepperoni, and sausage, and…"

Her face suddenly went pale. "An…anchovies," she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. "I hate fish!" she hissed. "Hate, hate, hate!"

"Aw, cheer up, pooh," said Joker, patting her on the head. "Daddy will get rid of the nasty old fish. Hey, Eddie, head's up!" he shouted, picking up the pizza like a frisbee and throwing it across the room. It hit Edward Nygma squarely in the face. He slowly pulled the pizza away, glaring at Joker, and then suddenly threw it back at him, hitting him in the back of the head.

The food fight that followed resulted in all the current inmates wearing their Thanksgiving meal rather than eating it. "You know, Christmas is only a few weeks away, and right now you're all on the naughty list!" shouted Dr. Leland, furiously, trying to wipe the stray food off her clothes.

Joker snorted, wiping tomato sauce out of his eye. "I'll be outta here by Christmas, so who cares?" he retorted.

"Frankly, Joker, the sooner you're out of here, the better," snapped Dr. Leland. "I know that's selfish of me to say, since your escapes always result in the deaths of innocent people, but right now my blood pressure is convincing me that I'd rather you be outta my hair!"

She stormed from the room with the trainee doctor following her, already composing his resignation letter in his head.

Dr. Leland entered her office and slammed the door, breathing heavily. "Um…Dr. Leland?" said a voice.

She turned around to see a man and a woman seated in front of her desk, a man and a woman she had never seen before. "Uh…yes," stammered Dr. Leland, trying to regain her professional composure. "That's me. How can I help you?"

"We're trying to locate an employee of yours," said the woman. "At least, we think she's still employed here."

"I see. Who is it?" asked Dr. Leland, taking a seat behind her desk.

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," replied the woman.

Dr. Leland studied them carefully. "And…uh…may I ask why you wish to get in touch with her?"

The woman smiled. "We're her parents," she said.

Dr. Leland nearly fell off her chair. She gaped at them in astonishment. "Her…parents?" she stammered. "And you don't know…I mean…uh…you haven't heard from her since she started working here? It was some time ago now…"

"Oh, well, she and her father had a falling out shortly after she got the job at Arkham," said the woman, Mrs. Quinzel. "George still won't tell me what the fight was about, but it was a good one. Temper is a bit of a Quinzel family trait and…uh…we haven't spoken since. But…well, I do miss her, and I just thought after all this time and in the spirit of the holiday and the season that we might try…to forgive each other and be a family again."

Dr. Leland folded her hands together. "Um…I take it you're not Gotham locals?"

"No, doctor," agreed the woman. "We've come all the way from Brooklyn. Drove down in some pretty nasty weather too, didn't we, George?"

Dr. Leland focused on Mr. Quinzel, who hadn't said a word since she had entered the room. His arms were folded across his chest, and the look in his eyes could kindly be described as hostile. He nodded slightly in response to his wife's question, but kept his lips tightly closed.

"So you're unfamiliar with a lot of…local celebrities," continued Dr. Leland, slowly. "The supercriminals and the like…"

"The people you treat here, you mean?" asked Mrs. Quinzel. "Um…yes. We don't really read the papers, do we, George?"

Mr. Quinzel grunted in response. "Why do you ask?" said Mrs. Quinzel to Dr. Leland.

"Just…uh…just curious," stammered Dr. Leland. She honestly had no idea how to handle this situation. If she told the Quinzels about their daughter's transformation into Harley Quinn, she didn't want to be held responsible for their actions. Mr. Quinzel especially looked like he might explode from rage from even a minor annoyance, let alone the revelation that his daughter had lost her sanity and become a murdering supercriminal.

It was Harley's responsibility to tell them. Or to decide not to, although Dr. Leland wasn't sure a thing like a criminal identity could be kept a secret for very long.

She stood up suddenly. "Well, I shouldn't keep you away from your daughter any longer. I warn you, she might be in a bit of a state – the patients just had a food fight and as you can see, not even the doctors were spared," she said, nodding at her own stained clothing.

"Oh, I don't care how she looks, Dr. Leland," said Mrs. Quinzel, sincerely. "I just want to see her again, after all this time. I just want to give my baby girl a big hug and tell her how much I love her. And you do too, don't you, George?"

Mr. Quinzel didn't respond to this, except to tighten his jaw. Dr. Leland was relieved Harley was the one who would have to deal with him.

She led the Quinzels back down the hall to the cafeteria. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Harley was licking stray bits of pizza off the Joker's face as he was loudly explaining the role food played in his sex life. "…I mean, you think ice cream's a great idea at the time, because it's kinda romantic, and who doesn't love the taste? But you forget how cold it is. By the time you're recovered from the shock of something frozen stinging your naked skin, you're kinda outta the mood. Unless you're Mr. Freeze, I guess," he chuckled. "Boy, his wife is gonna have to get used to some weird stuff if she ever wakes up from that coma. But my point is that you have to be careful what kinda food you use in the bedroom. Chilies are another thing I don't recommend. On any sensitive part of your body. Ever. Still, despite the occasional setback, I think I've always stuffed my bird pretty good on Thanksgiving, and the rest of the year," he chuckled. "Ain't that right, Harley?"

"That's right, Mr…" began Harley adoringly, but her tongue froze halfway up his cheek as she noticed the visitors, and a look of shock and horror clouded her eyes.

"Mom!" she exclaimed suddenly, straightening up and forcing a smile. "Dad! What…are you both doing here?"

Mrs. Quinzel was staring at Harley with tears of joy in her eyes, and she suddenly rushed forward to hug her. "Oh, baby!" she gasped, squeezing her tightly. "My baby! It's so good to see you again!"

Harley returned the hug, and then shared a look with her father. They seemed to communicate without speaking, only with their eyes. Then Mr. Quinzel cleared his throat.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Harley," he said, casually. "Won't you introduce us to everyone?"

"Oh…yeah…Dad," stammered Harley. "Uh…these are some of Gotham's most famous supercriminals and residents of Arkham Asylum. Uh…this here is Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, and Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, and Edward Nygma, the Riddler, and…"

She paused at the Joker. He looked back at her in confusion. "What gives, Harley?" he muttered. "Hi, I'm the Joker," he said, extending his hand. "Harley's boy…"

"Boisterous patient," interrupted Harley, intercepting his hand and petting it gently. "Now Mr. Joker, we've talked about trying not to assert yourself, haven't we, or do we need to review it during tomorrow's session?"

Joker stared at her. "Harley…"

"I'm on first name terms with all of my patients," interrupted Harley, beaming at her parents. "Sounds a lot friendlier than Dr. Quinzel, doesn't it? That's a new type of therapy I'm trying – relating to the patients and trying to treat them as friends and equals. That's why I'm dressed in this inmate uniform, in fact. Blending in with them is all part of the rehabilitation process."

She squeezed Joker's hand tightly and gave him a pleading look to play along. He continued to stare at her in confusion. He hadn't ever expected Harley to deny their relationship to anyone, and certainly not to her parents. He had never thought she was ashamed of it. She shouldn't be ashamed, after all – he was quite the catch. The greatest criminal Gotham City had ever known, handsome, talented, clever, brave, funny, the list went on and on. Good boyfriend material, anyone could see that. So why was she refusing to tell her parents the truth?

"Can we take you out for Thanksgiving dinner, baby?" asked Mrs. Quinzel. "If you're not too busy with work and have time for a lunch break, of course…"

"Oh…uh…sounds great, Mom, only…I gotta get Dr. Leland's permission," said Harley, glancing at her.

Dr. Leland nodded. Harley clearly wasn't going to try to escape with her parents guarding her. She seemed terrified of them, or maybe not _of _them…maybe she was just terrified of disappointing them. And who wouldn't be disappointed in Harley if they knew the truth about her?

"It's fine with me, Harley," Dr. Leland replied. "Take as long as you need. Family comes first, after all."

"Uh…yeah," stammered Harley. "Yeah, it…does."

She glanced at her father, and then at the Joker. "Uh…I'll see you at our session later, Mr. Joker to…uh…discuss things," she murmured. And then she and her mother left the room.

Mr. Quinzel made to follow them, but paused, turning to face the Joker again. The look in his eyes was indescribable – a mixture of pain, rage, loathing, and fury. The Joker gazed back at him, unafraid, but certain of one thing: Harley's father knew the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, this is nice," said Mrs. Quinzel, breaking the awkward silence as her family sat around the table. "The whole family together at Thanksgiving again."

"Yeah…just like old times," agreed Harley, picking at her food. And it was. Before she had severed all contact with her parents, being home for the holidays had always been awkward. Her mother wasn't really the problem – she was a nice, sweet lady, if a little innocent. Her father was a different story, however.

From about the age of fifteen, everything Harley had chosen to do with her life had met with his disapproval. If disapproval was a strong enough word. Condemnation was probably a better one. The way she acted, the way she dressed, her friends, all aspect of her teenage years had been some sort of fight, and although she moved away to Gotham for college, the fights only grew worse whenever she went home. Her decision to major in psychology was an especially hot topic. Her father believed it was a fake degree in a fake subject, and Harley had to spend almost every second of her time at home defending her work. It made her miserable. _He _made her miserable, and when she had got together with Mr. J, she had resolved never to be miserable again. He was a man who made everything fun. He had reminded her of what real happiness was, and how happy she could be, without the stress and headaches brought on by family. So she had returned home one final time to tell her father the truth – that she was having an affair with her patient, the homicidal, insane supercriminal known as the Joker. Her father had reacted as she had predicted he would, and they hadn't seen each other from that day to this.

One of the many hurtful things he had said to her during that last fight had been accusing her of being selfish and of wanting to break her mother's heart, which he assured her would happen if she knew the truth. That had hit home. Harley had never set out to hurt anyone else by her decision, especially not her mother, and she knew his words were true. They both loved her mother, and so her father had vowed she would never find out the truth of Harley's relationship from him. And it was clear he had kept that secret to this day.

"You look beautiful, baby," said Mrs. Quinzel, smiling at her daughter. "Pretty, healthy, happy. Your life must be going pretty ok, huh?"

"Oh…yeah, Mom, it's great," replied Harley, sincerely. Her father glared at her but said nothing.

"That Dr. Leland seems like a really nice person to work for," continued her mother. "You like your job?"

"Oh yeah, course I do," said Harley. "And she is – Joan's really nice. Very…understanding."

"And how are your patients?" she asked. "That Joker seems like a funny one."

"Oh yeah, he's a…funny guy," stammered Harley. "Uh…he's great actually…makes me laugh a lot. We get along great most of the time. Lots to talk about."

She met her father's eyes, blazing in fury, and looked back down at her plate.

"And have you found a nice young man yet?" asked Mrs. Quinzel. "I'm sure there are a lot of them in Gotham."

"Uh…not really in the market for a nice young man, Mom," said Harley slowly, swirling her vegetables around the gravy on her plate.

"That's fine, baby, I don't wanna pressure you," said Mrs. Quinzel. "Women these days are so independent, and you've never been the type who needs a man. I just worry, thinking about you all alone in this big city. I don't want you to get lonely. I just want you to have someone sweet to come home to. Where do you live now, baby? I've been wanting to call or write, but I didn't have an address or a phone number."

"Uh…if you get in touch with Arkham, they can usually reach me," said Harley, slowly. "I change my address a lot…don't like getting tied down to one location – you know me, Mom."

"Yes, I do," laughed Mrs. Quinzel. "Adventurous and free-spirited. I don't know where you get that from. Certainly not from me."

"I blame your parents," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "They had a lot of crazy ideas too."

"Well, she's turned out great despite those crazy ideas, hasn't she, George?" asked Mrs. Quinzel.

Mr. Quinzel said nothing, and Harley saw his knuckles tighten on the glass. He was probably giving himself an ulcer keeping the secret from her mother.

"I'm just going to head to the ladies' – be right back," said Mrs. Quinzel, standing up and leaving Harley and her father alone.

"How…are you doing, Dad?" asked Harley, slowly, breaking the hostile silence.

"Fine," he retorted. "Life's a bed of roses, Harley, with my only child throwing her life away as the sidekick to some murdering nutcase and having to conceal that fact from my wife. It's all just peachy keen."

"Well, maybe you should consider letting Mom find out the truth," retorted Harley.

"I'm not as selfish as you, Harley," he snapped. "I could never hurt her like that. And she would be hurt, as I am, to know that despite all her love and care, her child has chosen to waste her life on that disgusting monster…"

"Don't talk about him like that," interrupted Harley. "I love him."

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Harley," he muttered. "I've been wondering ever since we last spoke if this isn't all some big stunt to get back at me, to punish me for some perceived injustice I've done you as a parent. Maybe your rebellious teenage phase has just continued on, and you're actually immature enough to let it ruin your whole life."

"You must have an incredibly high opinion of yourself, Dad, to think I would mold my entire life around trying to get back at you," retorted Harley. "This has nothing to do with you or Mom. This is my decision, and my choice. I love him. And I'm happy."

Mr. Quinzel took a long drink. "You think I don't read the papers, Harley?" he muttered. "You think I don't see every trashy magazine and gossip rag that reports on you and that clown? All your torrid little fights and break-ups, the abominable way he treats you, and all the sick speculation about what kind of messed up woman you are? Do you know what it feels like as a parent to read those horrible things about your daughter? The way they portray it, you're not happy at all. You're just stuck in some abusive cycle with a monstrous creep, like a battered wife. He does hit you, doesn't he? Tell me the truth."

Harley poked at her vegetables some more. "Sometimes," she agreed. "We have fights, like all couples do."

"Fights are one thing," agreed her father. "Your mother and I have fights, but I've never raised a hand to her in my life. I wouldn't be any kind of man if I did that. I always tried to set a good example for my daughter about how a man should behave, and how he should treat a woman. But I have to wonder if any of this is my fault. If I've failed in some way as a parent, for my daughter to have turned out like that, to tell herself she's happy with that kind of a guy. You deserve better. Everyone says so, and I think you know you do, deep down."

"I can't explain it to you, Dad," whispered Harley. "Or to anyone else. But when I'm with Mr. J…I feel like…myself. I don't feel like myself around anyone else. He makes me feel complete, and he does make me happy. The kind of happiness I've never known around anyone else. And that kinda happiness is worth the occasional moment of pain. I'm crazy for him, literally. I…I love him."

She took a drink of water. "And I can't help what other people think, and I don't care what other people think," she said firmly. "I don't ask you to like it, Dad, but you've got to accept it. I'm with Mr. J."

He nodded slowly. "Are you going to tell your mother, or should I?" he asked.

"Does she…have to know?" asked Harley.

"If you don't care what anybody thinks, then why should you care if she knows?" demanded her father. "Unless some part of you does care, and is ashamed of what you've done."

"I'm not ashamed," snapped Harley. "I just…don't want to hurt her. She wouldn't understand. Just like you don't."

Mr. Quinzel took another drink. "How can anybody understand madness?" he asked.

Harley didn't have an immediate response, and Mrs. Quinzel returned to the table before she thought of one. "Should we order dessert?" she asked. "I'm in the mood for a slice of pumpkin pie – what about you, Harley?"

"Sure, Mom," said Harley.

"Are you working a lot over Thanksgiving weekend or can we see you again?" asked Mrs. Quinzel. "We'll be heading home on Monday, but we've got a hotel in Gotham for the next three days, and we wanna spend as much time with you as possible. What's your schedule looking like?"

Harley looked down at her plate. "Uh…I'll have to double check with Dr. Leland," she said. "I just…have a lot of patients who need me…"

"Well, we can come to Arkham if that's easier," said Mrs. Quinzel. "And we can see you on your breaks. Or maybe watch you with your patients, if that's allowed. They seem like an interesting group."

"Uh…yeah…interesting's a good word," said Harley, nodding. "But, gee, Mom, are you sure you wanna spend all day in an asylum? There are a lot of other sights to check out in Gotham – you could see Wayne Tower, or the Natural History Museum…"

"And I'm sure they're all very nice, Harley, but all I really want to do is spend time with my daughter," said Mrs. Quinzel, taking her hand and beaming. "Isn't that right, George?"

Mr. Quinzel said nothing. "The Joker robbed the Natural History Museum a few weeks ago, didn't he?" he asked lightly. "With an accomplice?"

"Oh. Is he a particularly dangerous man, Harley?" asked Mrs. Quinzel, concerned. "You're not at any risk of being hurt, are you?"

"No," retorted Harley, firmly. "No, he's not dangerous. I mean, he _is _dangerous, but not to me. He wouldn't hurt me – I'm special. Y'know, being his…his doctor and all."

It was no good, thought Harley. She simply couldn't look into her mother's eyes and admit to her relationship with the Joker. And that bothered her. She had never had any problem telling anyone all about it before – she even gave Poison Ivy lurid details about it when she was drunk enough. But with her parents…well, she loved them. In a different way to Mr. J, but no less deeply. And it was difficult to know you were disappointing the people you loved, even if it resulted in your own happiness.

But maybe…maybe if her parents got to know Mr. J, if they could see the Joker she knew and loved…maybe she could tell them the truth without them being disappointed. Mr. J loved her, after all, and he did show it occasionally. Maybe she could convince him to prove his love to her in front of her parents, so they'd be ok with their relationship. Maybe this could all end all right after all. Or maybe she was just crazy. Well, even if she was, she didn't have any better ideas.

"Why don't you both come to Arkham tomorrow morning?" she said. "And you can meet him for yourself."


	3. Chapter 3

"So let me get this straight, Harley," said the Joker slowly, later that night. "You want me to play the perfect guy for your parents, so that when you finally tell them that you've been lying to them about our relationship, they'll be happy about it?"

"You don't have to _play_ the perfect guy, puddin' – you _are_ the perfect guy!" said Harley, beaming. "I just kinda want you to…be on your best behavior. No…playful punches or insults or…y'know. The usual stuff."

"Ok, you want me to play a nice guy," said the Joker. "It's a good joke, I'll admit that, but I'm really not sure how long I can keep the act up. It'll probably get boring real fast, and you know how I can't stand being bored."

"But puddin', it's really important to me that my parents like you," pleaded Harley. "Their approval would mean a lot…"

"Harley, nobody in their right mind is going to approve that their daughter is dating a homicidal lunatic who looks like a clown," retorted Joker. "And assuming your insanity isn't hereditary, their approval is just not going to happen, so I dunno why I should waste my time and effort trying to get it."

"Because it would mean a lot to me, Mr. J," repeated Harley. "And if you love me, you'll do this for me."

"Don't tell me what I will and won't do!" snapped the Joker. "And don't try to blackmail me with that 'if you love me, you'll do this' crap! You're the one who's trying to make our love into something it's not by taking out the random violence and insults! All that's a part of our love, and you've never tried to conceal that before!"

"But my parents wouldn't understand it, puddin'…"

"Who cares?! You're saying they're more important than me?!"

"It's not a competition, puddin'!" exclaimed Harley. "I thought you'd understand! You must remember loving your family, your parents…"

"I don't remember anything about my past, and you know it!" snapped Joker. "But I sincerely doubt my parents were people to be proud of! You know I don't understand this unconditional love stuff! If your parents don't accept the way you are and the life you live, I say to hell with them! Why should either of us put on a show to please them?!"

"Because that's what you do for the people you love," murmured Harley. "Sometimes you put aside your own thoughts and feelings for their sake. And that's all I'm asking you to do for me. It'll just be for a few days and then everything can go back to normal. But I just want to be able to tell my Mom without hurting her…"

"What about your Dad?" asked Joker. "He knows, doesn't he? You didn't care about hurting him?"

Harley shook her head slowly. "Nah, I didn't at the time. I was really angry with him, and I wanted to hurt him, so I told him the truth because I knew it would get him mad, not because I thought he deserved to know it, or even because I trusted him with it. But he's done a good job keeping my secret all these years, and I ain't the kinda gal who holds a grudge. I love my Dad. I just want us all to be a family again."

She hugged him gently. "I mean…you're my family too now, Mr. J. And I want all my family to get along."

"I don't think families tend to do that," retorted the Joker. "I think that's kinda the definition of a family. People you otherwise can't stand to be around, but are forced to hang out with over the holidays."

"Maybe for some people," agreed Harley. "But not for me. I don't love a lotta people, Mr. J, but the ones I do, I love deeply. And I want the people I love to be happy. You understand that, doncha?"

Joker sighed. "Yeah, sweets, if anybody understands the need to spread smiles, it's me."

"So you'll be good, huh, puddin'?" asked Harley.

Joker smiled. "I'll be myself, pooh," he said, kissing her nose. "How about that?"

"No, I don't want you to be yourself, I want you to be good," snapped Harley. "Please promise me, Mr. J."

"Dr. Leland has agreed to this ridiculous charade?" demanded Joker. "You pretending to be a doctor again and all…"

"She's gonna be monitoring me," replied Harley. "We're gonna tell my parents we're doing some joint sessions. And some group therapy, so the pressure won't be on you all the time. I mean, you can make yourself look good compared to the others no problem, Mr. J."

"I already do," retorted Joker. "And you're telling me the other freaks are all gonna be there and I have to resist picking on them? That's impossible, Harl! They're all just punchlines waiting to happen!"

Harley folded her arms across her chest. "Mr. J, if you don't do this for me, I'll…I'll…withhold sex from you."

Joker snorted. "Don't make me laugh, Harl. Like you could ever hold out longer than me."

"I could!" snapped Harley. "And I will, if you're gonna be a bastard about this!"

"Fine, go ahead, kid!" he snapped. "I couldn't care less if I get to stuff my bird tonight or not!"

"Well, I couldn't care less about being stuffed!" retorted Harley.

"Good! Night then, Harley!" he shouted, rolling over to face away from her.

"Night, Mr. J!" she snapped, doing the same. The beds in Arkham were designed with single occupants in mind, so even though they were facing away from each other, it was impossible for them not to be touching. Joker resolutely faced the wall, and Harley faced the bars, determined to carry out her threat.

"Some crap Thanksgiving," she muttered under her breath. "Had to deal with anchovy pizza on my clothes, and my parents showing up without warning, and an awkward dinner, and now my boyfriend's being a pain in the ass! What have I got to be thankful for anyway?"

"I was wondering the exact same thing myself," snapped Joker. "Nothing for me to be thankful for except the Bat. At least he's always there for me, and he doesn't expect me to change myself. He accepts me for who I am, and don't spring in-laws on me and pressure me to act all good and nice for them!"

"Well, why don't you just go date Batman then?" snapped Harley, rolling over to face his back.

"Because frankly I don't think he'd be up for it!" retorted Joker. "And I don't swing that way!"

"You could always go find yourself another girl, Mr. J," she muttered. "One who don't have any family for you to put up with."

"Yeah, sounds like a good plan," snapped Joker. "I don't think Pammie's got any family, does she?"

"She's way outta your league, Mr. J," retorted Harley. "Anyway, she's not stupid enough to put up with a creep like you who won't even do one simple thing to make his girlfriend happy!"

"Don't you dare accuse me of not making you happy!" shouted Joker, rolling over to face her furiously. "I won't take that crap from you! Nothing makes you happier than a little pain and violence and cruelty, you dumb, worthless, masochistic dame! Which unfortunately means I'm kinda stuck with you, because that's also what makes me happy, and no other dame in the world is stupid or pathetic enough to get off on abuse and humiliation the way you do!"

"Do I look happy to you, Mr. J?" demanded Harley.

"No! You look pathetic!" snapped Joker. "Just stop pouting, Harley! You know what Daddy does to bad little girls who pout!"

"You wouldn't dare…" began Harley, but he suddenly began spanking her hard.

"Mr. J! Stop it! I'm not in the mood for…oh…Mr. J!" she gasped in adoration, the pain having its usual effect on her. "Mr. J, you have to promise me…"

"Shut up, Harley," he growled, climbing on top of her.

"But you have to promise me!" she whispered.

He sighed heavily. "What?" he muttered, kissing her harshly.

"Promise me you'll behave for my parents," she whispered, gazing up at him with pleading eyes.

He nodded slowly. "Only if you promise to misbehave for Daddy," he murmured, grinning.

She grinned back. "Deal," she whispered, pulling him down to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Harley tapped her foot nervously, adjusting her glasses and smoothing down her lab coat. It had been a long time since she had done this shrink gig, and even though she was only pretending this time, it brought back a lot of memories. Memories of fear and repression and shyness, of her life before Mr. J.

She had felt worthless for a long time, not just because of her father's disapproval, although that certainly hadn't helped. But she had never really figured herself out before Mr. J – she hadn't know what she wanted or needed out of life. She felt awkward and scared most of the time. Mr. J had changed all that – he had given her a purpose, he had made life fun, and he had made her feel special and happy in her own skin.

The doctor outfit was also bringing back memories of her and Mr. J's courtship, and she tried to focus back on the present so she wouldn't lose control of herself and cover him with kisses the moment he entered the room.

Dr. Leland startled her out of her fantasies. "You ready, Harley?" she asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be. Thanks for setting all this up, Joan. I owe you one."

Dr. Leland shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Harley. I know how difficult family can be sometimes, but they're worth the effort. Even if it occasionally means lying to them by pretending to be something you're not, or risking your professional ethics by letting a patient masquerade as a doctor. But what are they gonna do, fire me? Nobody else would be crazy enough to run this madhouse."

She checked her watch. "They'll be here any minute now," said Harley, before Dr. Leland could ask. "They're always on time."

A knock came on the door, and a second later, Harley's parents entered the room. "Hi baby, hope we're not late!" said Mrs. Quinzel, happily, beaming and embracing her daughter. "Don't you look professional!"

"Thanks, Mom, but I think it's just the glasses that give that effect," said Harley, adjusting them again. "I mostly wear contacts these days so I can look a bit more…fun."

"Well, I think you look just great, honey," she said, smiling. "Doesn't she, George?"

"She _looks _very professional," agreed Mr. Quinzel, his arms folded across his chest.

"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Leland," said Mrs. Quinzel, sitting down next to her daughter. "I hope we're not inconveniencing you by sitting in like this…"

"Not at all, Mrs. Quinzel," replied Dr. Leland. "It will be nice to have an outsiders' perspective. You tend to get pretty insulated in the asylum. The patients have all promised to be on their best behavior for you, haven't they, Harley?"

"That's right, Joan," replied Harley. She silently prayed that Mr. J would keep his promise as she said to the guards, "Please bring them in."

Harley's fellow inmates were brought into the room: Poison Ivy, Two-Face, Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Edward Nygma, and last came the Joker, smiling a more benevolent than usual smile. He entered the room and paused, staring at Mrs. Quinzel and clapping his hands to his face in an overdramatic gesture of surprise. "Harley, I thought you said your mother would be joining us today, not your younger sister!" he exclaimed, beaming at her. "Well, it's easy to see where Harley gets her good looks from, Mrs. Quinzel! You are one hot dame!"

"Uh…thank you, Mr. Joker," stammered Mrs. Quinzel, taken aback. "We did meet yesterday…"

"Oh yeah," said Joker, his smile falling a little. He quickly resumed it. "Well, I just didn't really get a good look at you before, Mrs. Quinzel. Seeing you now in the full light of day, I can tell you, your husband is one lucky man!" he said, winking at Mr. Quinzel. "I would do that so hard…"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" demanded Mr. Quinzel, furiously.

"That's for me to know and your daughter to find out, like the great little shrink she is!" exclaimed the Joker, beaming and winking at Harley, who was staring at him in horror.

"Why don't you just take a seat, Joker, and we'll go around the circle and introduce ourselves and explain why we're here," said Dr. Leland, trying to control the damage. "Edward, why don't you go first?"

"Are you serious?" snapped Nygma, angrily. "I'm not playing along with your ridiculous little charade. Harley's no better than the rest of us, and if you think for one second that I'm going to sit here and…"

Poison Ivy punched him in the face. "Eddie's here because he tells lies," she snapped, as Nygma howled in pain, cupping his nose. "And that's what happens when people don't tell the truth. People get hurt, don't they, Eddie?"

"I think you broke my nose…" began Nygma.

"I'm Poison Ivy," continued Ivy, nodding amiably at Harley's parents. "I'm here because we live in a society that doesn't treat all living things equally, and believes it's ok to murder defenseless plants while protecting the brutes of humanity. A society that values the corruptness of human life over the pure beauty of plant life, which is clearly insane, and which I choose to fight against. I see myself as a protector of Mother Earth, a nurturing, cherishing figure who's misunderstood…"

"She loves plants so much, she sleeps with them," interrupted Joker.

Ivy started forward to punch him, but was intercepted by Two-Face. "Uh…I'm Harvey Dent, former District Attorney of Gotham City," he muttered, when he had forced Ivy back into her chair. "You may have heard of me."

"No, I'm afraid not," said Mrs. Quinzel.

Both of Two-Face's faces twisted in a scowl. "Well, I was pretty well known not so long ago!" he growled, flipping his coin. "Believed in fighting for justice in this town. Had an…accident that split my face in two, and I'm a lot happier now not having to be a do-gooder all the time. Nice guys finish last."

"Isn't that the truth?" sighed Tetch. "I'm a lonely wretch named Jervis Tetch, and I've never hurt a soul in my life. But I'm locked up in here because certain people mistakenly believe I might be dangerous to society. I ask you, what harm could I do anyone?"

"Pedo," coughed the Joker, loudly.

"I am not a pedophile!" snapped Tetch. "You're the one who's always doing all that Daddy stuff with Har…with…uh…hardly a modicum of resistance from your…partner," he finished lamely.

"Well, in case you're deaf, Hatty, I just said Mrs. Quinzel was super hot," retorted the Joker. "And she ain't a kid. So I ain't got nothing to prove. And her daughter's old enough to be a doctor, and also incredibly hot, so there ain't no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to fantasize about a little Harley pie…"

"You are utterly pathetic, do you know that?" snapped Crane. "It's actually not that difficult to act like a decent human being, but you seem entirely incapable of it, Joker! The Quinzels are obviously incredibly charming people, but you're repulsing and terrifying them, as you do with everyone who isn't a disgusting specimen of humanity like yourself!"

He turned to them. "I'm Professor Jonathan Crane, former teacher of psychology at Gotham University. Your daughter is a wonderful doctor and a brilliant mind, with the potential to provide a great contribution in the field of psychiatry."

"Oh, that's…wonderful to hear, Professor Crane," said Mrs. Quinzel, slowly. "Why are you locked up in here?"

"I find myself preoccupied with the nature of fear, my dear lady," replied Crane. "I have several theories about this subject which I am curious to test, and my methods for doing so have been frowned upon by certain parties."

"And there ain't no party like a Bat-party, am I right?" chuckled Joker. "Don't let Johnny here fool you – he may be a smooth talker when he can use big words, but he's frightened his fair share of innocent bystanders to death. You don't get a lot of volunteers wanting to be terrified, do ya, Johnny?"

"Science has always required some sacrifices," muttered Crane.

"So none of you actually…think you're insane," said Mrs. Quinzel slowly.

"Oh, I am," said the Joker, firmly. "Crazy as a coot, or that's what they tell me, and why would they lie? But Harley here doesn't think so, do ya, Harl?" he asked, beaming at her.

Harley stared at him. "I think, Mr. Joker, that you occasionally have ideas that seem…a little unorthodox," she said, slowly.

"And don't tell me you don't like it a little unorthodox, toots," he chuckled, grinning. He looked around at everyone's stern faces. "Oh, c'mon, can't any of you losers take a joke?!" he shouted.

"But how can you possibly make any progress with any of these people, Harley, if they're still in denial about their mental state?" asked Mrs. Quinzel.

"Well, it's…really difficult," stammered Harley. "And slow. But Joan's really patient with everyone…"

"And Harley's especially patient with me," said the Joker. "Such a sweet, sympathetic girl – you did a good job with this one, Mrs. Quinzel!" he said, clapping Harley on the shoulder. "She's turned out all right, haven't you, kid?"

"Mr. Joker, please just sit down," hissed Harley, shoving him away as he tried to ruffle her hair.

"So you think you deserve to be locked up in here, Mr. Joker?" asked Mrs. Quinzel. "If you admit you're crazy, I mean."

Joker shrugged. "Crazy is a point of view, toots. And there are a lotta crazy people out there who aren't locked up, so I don't see why I'm so special. I mean, take Batman, for example. He's just like us – goes around wearing a costume and hurting people. You explain to me how he's any different to the rest of us."

"Batman doesn't kill people," growled Mr. Quinzel. "You have killed, tortured, and mutilated hundreds and thousands of human beings, human beings whose lives and the lives of the people who loved them have been destroyed all because you think pain is some big joke. I don't think you're crazy. I just think you're evil. Evil and selfish and completely heartless, living just to make yourself happy and not caring who you hurt as long as you amuse yourself."

"He's not like that!" piped up Harley. "Are you, puddin'…" She froze, panicking to think of some way to conceal the pet name. "Puddin'…pudding will be served with lunch today, just to remind you all. Don't forget."

"I can tell you read the papers, Mr. Quinzel," said Joker, smiling. "You should never trust the media, y'know. They'd say anything for a story."

"Are you saying every newspaper and news station is lying when they've reported hundreds of your mindless crime sprees?" demanded Mr. Quinzel.

"Well, yeah," retorted Joker. "They ain't mindless, for one thing. A lotta thought and effort goes into planning them. Ask Harley, I lock myself away for days, she can't find me for…for….for therapy sometimes."

"Why do you commit crimes, Mr. Joker?" asked Mrs. Quinzel, genuinely puzzled. "Why do you hurt people?"

He shrugged again. "Because it's funny, I guess."

"What Mr. Joker means to say is, it's funny how…sorry he feels about it all afterward," invented Harley, hastily. "But it's an obsessive compulsion and he really can't help himself. He's a sick man, but there's every hope of a recovery…"

"God dammit, Harley, how blind can you get?!" shouted Mr. Quinzel, standing up furiously. "Professor Crane is right – you're not stupid! So why can't you just see what everyone else sees?! He's no good! Give him up! There's no hope of curing him – he's just heartless and evil to the core! And evil people can't make anyone else happy but themselves! They can only hurt them!"

"Dad, I didn't…do this to hurt anyone," whispered Harley, with tears in her eyes. "I just followed my heart."

He glared back at her. "Then maybe you should have been a good doctor for once, and listened to your head, Harleen," he muttered.

He stormed from the room without another word. Harley burst into tears, and her mother came over to comfort her, soothing her gently.

"There's a lotta love in this room right now," said the Joker, beaming.

"Shut up, J," growled Ivy, coming over to join Harley. "Haven't you done enough?"

"What have I done?" he demanded. "I was just being honest and telling the truth…"

"Nobody's been telling the truth!" sobbed Harley. "It's all lies, all of it! Lies, lies, lies!"

She broke away from her mother and Ivy and raced from the room. Mrs. Quinzel stared after her. "Do your sessions…usually end like this?" she asked Dr. Leland.

"More often than you'd think," sighed Dr. Leland. "It's a stressful job, Mrs. Quinzel. We all have bad days."

"I had a real bad day once," said the Joker, cheerfully. "Want me to tell you about it?"

"No, Joker, I really don't," snapped Dr. Leland. "I want to go see to Harley. She's…uh…claimed one of the cells as her own for her research into patient facilities and lifestyle…I'll just show you to it, Mrs. Quinzel…"

The other patients followed them out of the room, all except the Joker, who paused and then headed in the opposite direction, where Mr. Quinzel had stormed off.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Quinzel was seated on a bench in front of the asylum, under the shade of a tree. His hands were still shaking in rage, and he balled them into fists to try to calm down. But temper was a Quinzel family trait, and he was no better at concealing his than his daughter was.

"Smoke?" said a voice. He turned to see the Joker sitting down next to him, holding out a cigar. "Mind if I do?"

"No," he muttered, turning away and starting to stand up. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Look, George, is it?" asked the Joker, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

"You may call me Mr. Quinzel," he snapped, angrily. "And don't you dare touch me," he hissed, shoving his hand away.

"I feel we've got off on the wrong foot," said the Joker, beaming. "I mean, we're the two most important men in Harley's life, and there's no reason why we shouldn't get along…"

"No reason?" repeated Mr. Quinzel, turning to glare at him in fury. "Do you honestly believe that? After you seduced my daughter…"

Joker snorted. "Oh yeah, like that's my fault. Look, I hate to be the one to have to break it to you, but your kid's a sex maniac. I can't be blamed for unleashing that nymphomaniac upon the world, and anyway, repression is bad, all the shrinks say so. If you repress things, you turn into freaks like Hatty or Johnny or Eddie…"

Mr. Quinzel stared at him. "If I could just discover one thing that attracts my daughter to you, just one thing, then maybe that would go some way towards understanding her bizarre fascination. But there's nothing. The more I hear about you and read about you, and the more time I spend with you, I just become more disgusted and horrified by you, and by her, for choosing you. What is it about you that she loves?"

Joker grinned. "Well, I am fantastically endowed…"

"Forget it," growled Mr. Quinzel. "It's useless trying to have a serious conversation with you."

"Hey, no, don't be like that," said the Joker as Mr. Quinzel stood up. "I'll be good, just sit down."

Mr. Quinzel slowly obeyed him. "What Harley loves about me," repeated Joker thoughtfully. "Well, I guess she…"

He trailed off, frowning. "I suppose she…"

He trailed off again, and his frown deepened. "Well, she…"

Mr. Quinzel glared at him. "Don't you know?" he demanded.

"Sure I know," retorted Joker. "She loves…uh…well, she's a weird kid," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Special, y'know? Touched in the head."

"You're saying she loves you because she's insane?" retorted Mr. Quinzel. "I suppose I could agree with that."

"Well, it's love that drives you crazy, y'see," replied Joker, nodding. "One of the many things in this world that does that, in fact. See, I see insanity as a kind of natural state of humanity – before rules and regulations started oppressing us, I imagine the world was a pretty fun place to live in. Not anymore, though. The only things that make it fun are the crazy things. Jokes, laughter, slapstick, unnecessary surgery, explosions, disfiguring mutilations, and love, of course. It's as crazy as the rest of it."

"The fact that you group love together with the rest of your sick jokes is terrifying," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "It says to me that you think your relationship with her is as meaningless as your stupid gags."

"Yep, it means as much to me as one of my favorite jokes," agreed Joker, nodding. "An oldie but goodie. I mean, maybe to other people gags aren't that serious, but I don't take anything in the world more seriously than my jokes. And Harley's a real good joke of mine."

"My daughter is worth more than one of your stupid jokes…" began Mr. Quinzel.

"Nothing's worth more to me than my jokes, George," interrupted the Joker, glaring at him. "Nothing. That's what people like the Bat and the cops and the media don't get. Maybe to you it's all just mindless gags, but this is my life. This is all I have, and what I stand for. I'm the Joker. I live for my jokes. And Harley's my joke. And if you think for one moment that I would ever let anyone else ruin my joke, or steal my joke, or mess with my joke at all, then you don't get me at all either."

He lit his cigar, exhaling slowly. "Harley does, though," he muttered. "Harley gets it. She's a bright kid, when she ain't being a dumb blonde. You don't give her enough respect."

"_I _don't give her enough respect?!" repeated Mr. Quinzel, insulted.

"Nah, you don't," repeated Joker. "See, I don't question Harley. I don't do stupid things like try to figure out why she loves me, or worry about whether she's gonna leave me, or if she's happy. I know she's happy. I see her smile every goddamn day, even if I have to see her cry a lot first. She always smiles in the end. So I know she's happy with me. I let her do what she knows makes her happy, and the only time I try to control her is when she's being greedy or incompetent or flirty with other guys, because a guy's gotta have respect from his dame too. I mean, a lotta people think I got a nasty temper, but so does Harley. I don't try to control mine, and she doesn't try to control hers. We're both free to be ourselves around each other, because we respect each other's freedom. And when she don't respect my freedom, when she's being suffocating or annoying, that's when I don't respect hers. It all balances out, y'see. It works."

He exhaled another cloud of smoke. "I mean, it ain't like a normal relationship," he continued. "But we ain't normal people, George. Your daughter is special. Probably the only dame in the world who could love a clown like me. And don't think for one moment that I don't appreciate that joke."

"I'm not really that interested in your feelings toward my daughter," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "You're hardly a predictable man, as you rightly say, and there's no reason why you couldn't suddenly decide that this particular joke no longer amused you and, say, kill it."

Joker nodded, inhaling from his cigar. "Nope. No reason at all. That's the crazy world we live in, George. Nothing's ever certain. All it takes is one bad day for a guy's whole life to be ruined. No relationship is secure, not even committed ones. But I'm a pretty committed guy, y'know – my file says I'm committed for life!" he chuckled. "But it's pretty scary how easily the things we come to depend upon could disappear. I mean, in my case, the Bat could be killed by some petty criminal – God knows there are enough of 'em out there who are trying to off him! Who's to say one of 'em doesn't get lucky one day and bam! Bye, bye, Batso! And then what am I supposed to do with myself? Or in your case, your wife could leave you tomorrow. Or die suddenly, maybe get hit by a truck, and you'd never see it coming. That's just the crazy randomness of life, George. Can't do anything about it. Can't protect against it. Can't think too much about it or you'll go crazy. So what do you do? You just roll with it. You get in that roller coaster car called life and you enjoy the ride with the people you got on it, and hope by the time the ride's over, you're all still on it. But the important thing is to enjoy the ride, George, so you don't wanna get off that crazy roller coaster. And Harley don't wanna get off it. Harley enjoys the ride. Why can't you just let her have fun?"

"You can't understand it," muttered Mr. Quinzel. "You're not a father."

"I might be," said Joker, shrugging. "Don't really remember any of my past. And I might be a father in the future, y'know, to your daughter's kids, maybe."

"Please don't make me sick," snapped Mr. Quinzel. "I feel ill just thinking about that."

Joker grinned. "Aw, c'mon, George, don't tell me you wouldn't like a couple grandkids, even if they did have their Daddy's looks," he chuckled. "Harley would be a great Mom. She's got this crazy ability to love things unconditionally, no matter how much of a disappointment they may be, and no matter how much she wishes things could have turned out differently. I like to think that's what makes a good parent, but then I am crazy, y'know."

He put out the cigar stub. "But you're right, it's probably best that I ain't a father. Obviously I don't get it. I'm just a homicidal nutcase, after all, locked up in a lunatic asylum. The things I think and the things I believe are all just crazy nonsense. I ain't sane and upstanding, like some guys who have kids, and who try to make them into something they're not. Me, I just take life as it comes, one joke at a time, and try to have a little fun with it. That's what Harley does too now. I guess things could have turned out worse for your kid. You must be a really good father, though, to have a daughter like her. Sweet, understanding, and a lotta love to give. You're a lucky guy, George. A lucky guy."

He stood up, glancing at his watch. "They're gonna realize I've snuck outta the asylum any minute now. If you could say you haven't seen me, I'd really appreciate it, George. It was nice meeting you, anyway," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you a cigar as thanks, but don't smoke it," he said, placing one in his hand. "It'll blow up in your face."

He strode off toward the gates to Arkham, whistling. "Oh, and tell Harley if you see her that I'll be back to pick her up later tonight. Can't pull a scheme without my favorite punchline, can I?" he chuckled. "See ya later, George!"

Mr. Quinzel watched as the Joker slowly sauntered toward the gates, climbed up, and leaped over them, disappearing out of sight. A second later an alarm sounded, and a group of guards raced out of the building.

"Sir, have you seen the Joker?" demanded one of them, noticing Mr. Quinzel.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. But he's long gone."

"Which way did he go, sir?" asked the guard.

Mr. Quinzel looked at him, and then pointed in the opposite direction. "Back that way," he said. The guards rushed off, leaving Mr. Quinzel alone. He studied the cigar and sighed heavily, putting it down and standing up to head back into the asylum. "The things we do for our children," he muttered.


	6. Chapter 6

As upset as Harley had been when she had burst into her cell, she still had sense enough to hide the pictures of Mr. J just in case her mother decided to follow her. And she was relieved she had, for her mother entered shortly afterward, followed by Dr. Leland, who left them alone.

"I'm sorry for losing control of myself like that, Mom," whispered Harley, wiping her eyes. "It's just…hard having to defend your life to the people you love."

"Well, your father's never been the most accepting man," sighed Mrs. Quinzel, sitting down next to her on the bed and stroking her hair. "But he loves you, and he just wants what he thinks is best for you. That's why he fights with you so much. You're both too stubborn to see each other's point of view."

"Quinzel family trait," muttered Harley.

"Yes, you and your father are more alike than you think," said Mrs. Quinzel, nodding. "If you could both see that, maybe you could stop these stupid fights. There's no point. Neither of you is ever going to change. All you can do is love each other for who you are."

"I don't think he cares if I love him or not," whispered Harley, tears in her eyes again. "I don't think he wants to have anything more to do with me. I've disappointed him, Mom. He can't even bear to look me in the eyes anymore."

Mrs. Quinzel was silent. "Harley, we can't always understand the actions of the people we love," she murmured. "We can't always support their decisions. But that doesn't mean that we stop loving them, even though maybe we wish we could. You're my daughter, and I love you so much. And I always will, even if circumstances in our lives make seeing each other difficult."

Harley nodded. "Yeah. Well, thanks for coming to Gotham anyway, Mom. I'm sorry it hasn't been a very pleasant stay. And I'm sorry things between Dad and me are kinda irreparable. I wish they weren't, but they are."

Mrs. Quinzel said nothing, continuing to stroke her daughter's hair. "That…Joker," she said, slowly.

"What about him?" whispered Harley, staring at the ground.

"You're sleeping with him, aren't you?" Mrs. Quinzel asked, calmly.

Harley looked up at her in shock. "What? No, of course I'm…not! He's my patient!"

"Yes, which is why you need to be careful that Dr. Leland doesn't find out," said Mrs. Quinzel, nodding. "You could lose your medical license for a breach of ethics like that."

Harley was too stunned to respond. "Does he make you happy?" asked Mrs. Quinzel.

"Yeah, Mom. He really does," whispered Harley, tears in her eyes again. "Like nothing else on this earth does."

Mrs. Quinzel smiled. "Then I'm happy for you, baby," she whispered. "You'll never be unhappy with a love like that."

Harley took her hand. "I…I wanna tell you the truth, Mom," she whispered. "The truth is…I ain't a doctor no more. My medical license was revoked when people found out I was sleeping with Mr. J. But I love him, y'see, so much…I…I help him commit crimes sometimes, because I'll do anything to make him smile and see him happy. I'm a patient here now, just like he is, but I ain't crazy, Mom. I just love him so much that it kinda feels like I am."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Mrs. Quinzel hugged her daughter tightly. "Oh baby," she whispered. "Baby, baby, baby. I can't ask anything more for you than that."

The door to Harley's cell opened and Mr. Quinzel entered the room. He looked at his wife and daughter and then cleared his throat. "That…uh…Joker guy told me to say that he'll be back for you tonight," he muttered.

"Then we'd better skedaddle," said Mrs. Quinzel, standing up. "You don't need the two of us interfering in your life anymore, baby."

"No," agreed Harley. "But I _want_ you in my life, Mom. Both of you," she whispered, gazing at her father.

Mrs. Quinzel smiled. "We'll drive down again next Thanksgiving, Harley, I promise," she said. "And we'll call you and write. Won't we, George?" she asked, turning to her husband.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Course we will, Harley."

"You mean it, Dad?" she whispered.

He gave a small smile. "You know me, Harley," he murmured. "I'm no joker."

She beamed, leaping into his arms. "Nah uh," she whispered, hugging him tightly. "But I love you anyway, Dad."

"I love you too, Harley," he whispered, embracing her gently. "Just…take care of yourself, huh?"

"Always do!" said Harley, cheerfully. She walked hand in hand with her parents out of the cell block.

"Nice meeting you all!" said Mrs. Quinzel, waving at the inmates as she passed. "I hope you all can move out of your states of denial and feel better soon. Look after that nose, Mr. Nygma."

The Riddler growled in annoyance, still cupping his bleeding nose.

"It was lovely meeting you, Dr. Leland," said Mrs. Quinzel, shaking her hand at the front door to the asylum. "Look after my baby girl, won't you?"

"I try my best," sighed Dr. Leland. "But she makes it difficult occasionally."

"Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! See you next year!" called Harley, waving until her parents were out of sight.

"Well, that could have gone worse," said Dr. Leland. "I intend to keep my promise to your parents and look after you, Harley, so don't get any ideas about escaping now."

"Don't you worry, Joan," said Harley, beaming. "I wouldn't dream of it, honest."

Dr. Leland nodded and headed back to her office. Harley glanced at the clock. "Mr. J, on the other hand…" she murmured, heading back to her cell and grinning.

**The End**


End file.
